Five minutes, any day. Spent writing—something anything not for anyone anything no edits no outlines no plans no correction, this is where it goes.enjoy.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Once-- but now . . .

I thought every man was an island
and I was a tunnel
reaching far into the center of the universe
and though shallow to the eye
depth unreachable beneath.
But slowly
as I learn
and grow
and live
I realize:
there is no end to anyone
and each man goes on until he can't see the end of his own thoughts--

and it's made me a little less important, I think.
And a little less perfect.